Tensions rise when the baked pie smells so sweet
you now cry.
I had warned you of the wax candles set aflame
do most definitely burn.
The wax drips unforgivingly
you do not even blow it out.
You sit there and cast out daydreams of longing
for something to be done...
however I do not know what is to be done.
I cannot grasp the things you feel.
I hear your sorrows at night when you tare you bed to shreds
because your loved one left you, he sleeps forever on his death bed.
Your funeral shall be arranged when you are ill enough to care.
Just continue onto to see the sun in June.
We will travel to the beaches and see the lagoon.
I tread in dangerous waters of your waterless tears.
You might as well leak wax
the same as the candle does
because in such turbid times
torment eats away as turmoil seeps
into our brains we barely eat
and we never sleep
so we melt to drift
till we disappear
into a
restful
slumber.
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